44 I \ \ I \ I J . \ . . , , i \ \ . tl I j \ t \ \ \ \ \ LPURS ... STYLE Is NEVER OUT OF FA SHIO N. I I , \\ Ð . _.. -- Whenever we add superb, modern style to the finest choice of fabrics. the result is always an elegant collection of timeless clothes that are unmistakably Aquascutum at . GRANT Of ARMS ro-= t q!i fl !!!!1 THEAQUASCUTUMSHO 680 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 10019. Tel: 212-975-0250. Please send for the new Spring brochure A I w for the news, because there is some- thing about a new tax regulation that interests him. Commercials keep inter- rupting, of course, but finally the news is over. Some figure skaters come on. After an hour or so has passed Sam realizes there is no hope of budging Edgar. Whenever Sam says anything Edgar raises his hand, as if to say he'll have time to listen in a minute. He is never annoyed. He gives everything the same pleased attention. He smiles as he watches the skaters in their twinkly outfits. He seems guile- less, but Sam detects satisfaction. On the false mantel over the electric fireplace is a photo- graph of Callie and Edgar in wedding clothes. Callie's veil, in the style of the time, is attached to a cap trimmed with pearls and pulled down over her forehead. She sits in an arm- chair with her arms full of roses, and Edgar stands behind, staunch and slender. Sam knows this picture was not taken on their wedding day. Many people in those days put on their wed- ding clothes and went to the photog- rapher's studio on a later occasion. But these are not even their wedding clothes. Sam remembers that some woman connected with the Y.M.C.A. got Callie a dress, and it was a shape- less dull-pink affair. Edgar had no new clothes at all, and they were hast- ily married in Toronto by a minister neither of them knew. This photo- graph is meant to give quite a different impression. Perhaps it was taken years later. Callie looks a good deal older than on her real wedding day, her face broader, more settled and authorita- tive. In fact, she slightly resembles Miss Kernaghan. That is the thing that can never be understood-why Edgar spoke up that first night in Toronto and said that he and Callie were going to be married. There was no necessity-none that Sam could see. Callie was not preg- nant, and, in fact, as far as Sam knows she never became pregnant. Perhaps she really was too small, or not devel- oped in the usual way. Edgar went ahead and did what nobody was mak- ing him do, took what he had run away from. He said that he and Callie were going to be married. But that was not what they were going to do- that was not what they were planning, surely? When Sam looked across at them on the train, and all three of them laughed with relief, it couldn't have been because they foresaw an out- come like this. They were just laugh- ing about being free. Fifty years too late to ask, Sam thinks. And even at the time he was too amazed. Edgar became a person he didn't know. Callie drew back, into her unlikely femaleness. Their mo- ment of happiness remained in his mind, but he never knew what to make of it. Do such moments really mean that we have a life of happiness with which we only occasionally intersect? Do they shed such light before and after that all that has happened to us in our lives-or that we've made happen-can be dis- missed? When Callie comes upstairs he doesn't mention the wedding pic- ture. "I've got the electrician down- stairs," Callie says. "So I've got to go down again and keep an eye on him. I don't want him sitting smoking a cigarette and charging me." He is learning the things not to mention. Miss Kernaghan, who had a stroke and died, but not for a good long time and not without lingering; the boarding house; the skating rink. Old times. This harping on old times by one who has been away to one who has stayed put is irritating-it is a sub- tle form of insult. And Callie is learn- ing not to ask him how much his house cost, how much his condomin- ium in Hawaii cost, how much he spent on various vacations and on his daughter's wedding-in short, she's learning that she will never find out how much money he has. He can see another thing she's wondering about. He sees the ques- tion wrinkling further the deep, blue- painted nests around her eyes, eyes that show now a lifetime of fairly successful efforts and calculations. What does Sam want? That's what Callie wonders He thinks of telling her he might stay until he finds out. He might be- come a boarder. "Edgar didn't seem to want to go out," Sam says. "He didn't seem to want to go out after all." "No," says Callie. "No. He's happy." -ALICE MUNRO . Mr. Limoli was assisted, with varying degrees of competence, by the soprano Mary Poore, the tenor Craig Schulman, the pianist Fenton Hess, the clarinetist Marcus Eley, and a string quartet consist- ing of Roger Zahab, Stephen Grenholm, Daniel Miller, Caryn Briskin, and William Kannar.- Tim Page in the Times. O.K., Kannar-off the stage, please.